August 9, 2010

So I was waiting at the bus stop this morning because it’s too hot to walk to work today – this fucking air, it’s like trying to breathe through a wet washcloth – and this *unbelievably* attractive man comes running by (all sweat and tendons and perfect teeth) with a huge brown hound of indeterminate breed on a leash.

Coincidentally, he sort of looked like this guy:

My hounds wants to sniff your skirt.

Who, while we’re talking about it, is totally the poor man’s this guy:

My widow's peak will fuck your widow's peak up, Badgefro.

I mean, check it:

SEXYFACE

EXTRASEXYFACE

And also:

Skinny is the new hot.

Your head-to-body proportion is mildly surprising.

So, anyway, this guy’s big, sweet dog was all, “I NEED TO SPEAK TO YOU IMMEDIATELY AND STICK MY COLD, WET NOSE UP YOUR DRESS WHILE I’M AT IT” and the dude was all, “I’m so sorry! Buddy, stop it!” and I was all, “It’s ok, he smells my dog” and the dog was all, “I LOVE YOU SO MUCH” and the dude was all, “You also look exactly like my girlfriend.” And before I could say, “Why is a hot piece like you dating a short, tubby sloth who hasn’t shaved her armpits in four days?” they were gone. But, hey, there may be hope for me yet, non?

August 4, 2010

I MEAN. I suppose there is a chance that I am too quick to judge, and only time will tell, although it has already taught us that a lot of fucking people watched the series premiere on Sunday. Apparently Rubicon was the biggest whopper of a series premiere in AMC history, which is kind of like the biggest tiger attack in Siegfried and Roy history, right? There’s really just the one, I’m pretty sure. Ok, yes, I know that Mad Men is THE GREATEST SHOW OF ALL TIME, and if I don’t agree I will be BURNED AS AN INFIDEL, but when that show premiered, who had even heard of AMC? No one. Zero people had heard of it and zero people watched it (except for the rare occasion they would show Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid). So, anyway, Rubicon.

Let me just say that the #1 best thing about Rubicon is James Badge Dale’s hair. Those of you who watch 24 (not me) know what Monsieur Dale looks like with a crew cut:

My widow's peak leaves behind actual widows.

And we have occasionally been witness to terrible, terrible taming-of-the-jewfro incidents:

1 part hair gel, 2 parts afterbirth

But in Rubicon, we finally get the full, glorious Badgefro:

Doubles as a squirrel sanctuary.

Positively delightful. But other than that, what do we have?

Well, we have a show that is instantly so absurd that we are immediately faced with an almost insurmountable hurdle. Now, don’t get me wrong. I was a big fan of Lost and X-Files, both of which successfully danced circles around us, demanding greater and greater suspension of disbelief as they went on, which I was more than happy to muster up. But those shows were smart and tantalizing (and often infuriating). The writers seemed to put a lot of thought into the different ways they were fucking with us. And we appreciated that, right? So, compare the first few episodes of either of those shows, when they really got their hooks into you and you were like, “Holy shit, I wish DVR’s had been invented yet so I could watch these over and over and over!”

Holy shit, we are about to be so famous.

Unfamousness: not an option!

And what does Rubicon have to offer us? Other than the sneaking suspicion that life is not worth living?

Is this all there is?

That every day is dreary and sad and not worth the trouble of getting out of bed for?

There is not enough Xanax in the world for this shit.

That everything is terrible and our parents never really loved us?

I know they loved the dog more than me.

How about an entire show based on the premise that when you need to get in touch with some sinister motherfuckers, it’s easier to plant clues in newspaper crossword puzzles all over the world than get a fucking disposable cell phone AND CALL THEM. No, Rubicon! NO. That is not plausible. That is frankly less plausible than a mysterious time-traveling tropical island populated by fucking POLAR BEARS.

LESS.

PLAUSIBLE.

That is just some sad, paranoid schizophrenia bullshit – and that is your audience, apparently. This guy is your audience:

Mental illness is not a joke, Sloth.

So, already I’m like, come ON. I want to like this show! I love conspiracies! But you can’t take tired, old schizophrenic delusions and make a show where you take them seriously and expect US to take YOU seriously.

Also? In the pilot? They fake-killed one dude by ramming two trains together and killing 36 other people in the process. Really, Rubicon? A poison-tipped umbrella wouldn’t have been a WEE BIT more efficient?

Did the creepy guy following Badgefro around really have to wear a long, grey overcoat with his RUSSIAN SABLE HAT and stare at him menacingly from down the train platform? That was necessary? Because if this show isn’t supposed to be a joke, you’re doing it wrong.

For instance: Badgefro finds a mysterious piece of paper left behind by his mysterious fake-dead boss with a bunch of letters typed on it in some mysterious code. He spends a mysterious amount of time CRACKING THE CODE to reveal the mysterious message and what does it say?

THEY HIDE IN PLAIN SIGHT.

Really, Rubicon? THAT’S what the mysterious coded message is? Because I’m pretty sure that if the mysterious fake-dead boss wanted to tell Badgefro that THEY HIDE IN PLAIN SIGHT, he could have just SAID SO. It’s not bank codes, motherfuckers. It’s not social security numbers. It’s not the combination to the porn safe. IT’S JUST A SENTENCE THAT DOESN’T MEAN ANYTHING.

I disapprove of this method of communication.

And finally, because no Slothville post is complete without some mention of Val Kilmer, I do not approve of the casting of Dallas Roberts as Miles Fiedler. He’s this guy:

I'm all smarm, baby.

Who is following in Simon Baker’s footsteps as the poor man’s this guy:

Smarm's my middle name, baby.

That’s Dallas Roberts on the right, there:

Our parents didn't love us.

But every time we look at him we are painfully reminded that what we really want is this guy:

I'm the real deal, baby.

And it’s all just so……so……….

UNSATISFACTORY.

I will give you two more chances, Rubicon, but you’d better step up your fuckin game. Two more and that’s it!

July 24, 2010

Hi everyone! (no one) I am blogging! (to an audience of zero) I won’t bother with explanations or excuses because that shit is boring. What I really want to talk about is Scoot McNairy, whose name, you will note, is SCOOT. 1-2-3 go!

Ok, so I have a thing about the TV show “Bones” which is pretty much the least misogynistic police procedural on television (just don’t get in David Boreanaz’s car). My DVR is constantly running out of space because it picks up every “Bones” episode and that shit is on two or three times a day, thanks to TNT. (thanks, TNT!) (except, wait, didn’t you invent “The Closer?” NO THANK YOU, TNT!) (Fuck you, TNT!) Anyway, “Bones” occasionally suffers from catastrophic failure in the no-misogyny department. (For instance, there was one episode where Temperance was bumping it with the dude from “Warehouse 13″ and he was like, “I’ma get on a sailboat and sail away now to a tropical fuckin’ island, wanna come with?” and Temperance is like, “Hmm….let me agonize over this for seven minutes…..NO.” and all her friends are like, “What is WRONG with you?? Don’t you want to go sail away to a tropical paradise with that mildly attractive guy you’re boning??” as though, you know, her fucking CAREER and AUTONOMY are nothing compared to a coconut with a straw in it and some regular cock. Fuck you, “Bones.”)

It’s been a while since I wrote a blog post, I’m trying to stay on track. Ok, so one of the times that “Bones” totally blew it was an episode where a woman was killed and for a minute they thought it was her stalker, who happened to be this flaky, vegan, tattered-sweater-wearing hippie who was portrayed as kind of mild and sweet and out of it, so not the scary kind of stalker, I guess? You know, the sweet kind of stalker, the kind who just wants to buy you some wheatgrass juice. (give me a fucking break, “Bones.”) And the point of all this is that despite the fact that he was playing a stalker, and despite the fact that the stalker he was playing was clearly supposed to smell like patchouli and lentil soup, I was weirdly, passionately, attracted to the actor, Scoot McNairy:

My bedhead will blow your mind.

What is it about this guy? I don’t know what to say except that he totally does it for me. But, you know, one small part in a problematic episode of “Bones” does not a lifelong passion make. I soon forgot about Scoot, only to be reminded of his loveliness when he was on ANOTHER episode of “Bones” playing the same troublesome character. Look at the sweater they made him wear:

I won’t even get into that episode. Sooooooo many problems. (they pay him cash to stalk a suspect. what the HELL, “Bones??”) But it kind of solidified this guy in my mind as an Unknown Cutester of Desirous Proportions.

ANWAY, fast forward to yesterday and I was sitting here at my desk, working my little fingers to the bone when it suddenly occurred to me, HEY! You know what I haven’t checked out in a while? GeekTyrant! I had better do that right away in case they are about to disappear off the innernets! And boy, am I glad I did because there is a ton of cool shit going on in nerdtainment right now.

Then, just as I was about to admit to myself that I had been fucking around online for way too long, hey now, will you look at this. Seriously, go look at it and come back.

So. Burrowing through GeekTyrant’s archives is how I discovered that there is a super-secret, super-low-budget, supposedly super-fantastic alien monster movie/love story that is quietly sneaking up on us and is set for release sometime before Halloween this year and that this in-many-ways-super movie stars none other than SCOOT MCNAIRY!!

As soon as I started watching that 2-minute clip (how fucking cool is that, by the way), I was like, “HEY! THAT IS THE HIPPIE STALKER FROM BONES OMG” and so I looked him up, found out his name, and also that there are heaps of adorable pictures of him on the innernets:

My mom styles my hair with spit.

I swear, I only smell like lentils on TV.

So I am an extra 1000% excited for this film now and will keep it on my radar. The bit of googling around I did about it yielded mostly cryptic-yet-giddy enthusiasm generated from a screening of it at SXSW this year. If audiences respond to it as positively as the quiet buzz around it suggests they will, “Monsters” could do for Scoot McNairy what “District 9″ did for Sharlto Copley. (get him cast in a hilariously overblown remake of a crappy 80’s tv show? oh well, you know what I mean.)

April 5, 2009

Ok, so I haven’t posted since last September because I got distracted by a few things. I was sucking on the teat of Facebook, finger banging Twitter, and getting pounded by all the election coverage. It was a media orgy and what can I say? I got derailed.

So I’m a little rusty, but Slothville never dies so here I am creaking my bones back into the blogosphere. Now cast your mind back to a more innocent time, when all we knew about her was her affinity for pleather and her umbrella, and you may remember a post I wrote about Rihanna and her dead reptile eyes. As a refresher:

I will eat your soul.

I will eat your eggs.

Well, lately I’ve been watching “Kings” on Sunday nights (at 8 pm, on NBC, watch it before it winds up in the brilliant-but-canceled pile with “Arrested Development,” “Pushing Daisies,” and “Firefly”). One of the stars of the show is Chris Egan who is somehow great for the show, but who has the emotive capacity of a really, really fuckable stump.

No, not this guy

This guy.

And it has rekindled my obsession with the vacant/sinister-eyed celebrity. You know who else looks like her brain is made of cinders and……..aliens? Megan Fox. Check it:

Sure, you can put it in my butt...

....but then I'm going to eat your children.

OOH, I just thought of another one! I also happen to watch “The Mentalist” on Tuesday nights. I can’t recommend it because it’s completely retarded, but I keep watching because of Simon Baker who is the star (and another fuckable stump – you see how it’s a trend?). I can’t explain it. I think it’s the lip gloss he always wears, it’s mesmerizing.

No, not this guy

This guy.

And speaking of Val Kilmer (the universal prototype for this species of alien/celebrity), we can all thank his dead eyes for getting him cast in his most memorable role:

You're dangerous, Maverick! ...To my heterosexuality...

I asked Penny what she thought about all this and she broke out her best Val Kilmer impression:

Now, I should own that I have never actually watched the Sopranos, but I know EXACTLY who that guy is. He’s the dude who beat the living shit out of Patricia Arquette in “True Romance” before she smeared shampoo in his eyes, set him on fire, stabbed him with a corkscrew and shot him in the chest with a 12-gauge, not necessarily in that order.

When he’s not kicking the crap out of deliciously curvy ex-call girls, this is Tony Soprano:

September 9, 2008

This trend alert actually ties in with another one on Cityrag, Insulting Rebounds. Our first culprit is the Hollywood ex-boyfriend pooper scooper, Dr. Sunkentits. The Dunster has a habit of picking up Drew Barrymore’s sloppy seconds, which is weird, right? What does that say? Are Drew’s exes suffering from low self esteem? Are they looking for someone to abuse a little bit? How does it makes sense otherwise to go from this:

Hummana!! Also, reportedly very sweet and nice-smelling.

To this:

DO NOT WANT

Who, even on a good day looks like this:

Also, reportedly stinky and a bad tipper.

First there was Fabrizio Moretti and now the Mac Guy.

Mac Guy! NOOOOOO!! What are you DOING?

What the hell am I even looking at here? Is that bedhead? Is she 45 years old? They look so furtive and fucked up. ………….Actually, you know what? They look like they’re tripping. Remember acid? Oh my god, I haven’t taken that shit since college, but I remember getting all messy-looking and grinding my teeth a lot which is what Sunkentits looks like she’s doing right there. Justin is staring at trails and Dunster is gnashing her teeth and wishing she had a lollipop.

So anyway, ew and all that. Moving on, Pamela Anderson is also looking pretty haggard these days. Haggard and like she’s trying WAY too hard:

PLEASE

LOVE

ME!!!

That’s how she looks on the outside, but I’m pretty sure this is how she looks on the inside:

God, these tits are exhausting...

There are lots of haggard blondes rolling around the hills of L.A. these days. The last one we’ll bother with here is one of the Olsen Twins. Which one? Don’t know, don’t care.

I'll have a bloody mary with extra blood...

I’m guessing that these two are in the stinky, bad-tipper category with the Dunster. I can smell them from here. That man is apparently her boyfriend which is……interesting. He looks like a combination of pre-enormous-noggin Val Kilmer and Crispin Glover. We used to have a saying when I worked in high-end retail. “The ones who have the most money are the ones who can afford to dress like their gardeners.” But this chick is a billionaire so, in this case, they can afford to dress like they never even got out of bed this morning.

And that’s it for today. I think I have two separated at births to post this week and then I probably won’t post for a little bit because I’m going on VACATION! Woo!

I used to have this boyfriend who was half Korean or Hawaiian or some shit, and his head was so out of proportion to his body that when we started dating I immediately began referring to him as Fathead. We only dated for about two months and the sex was awful because he was kind of dirty and would go to bed without brushing his teeth and then expect me to french him first thing in the morning and after he went down on me with fuzzy teeth I got a yeast infection which I didn’t realize until the next time he went down on me and by then it was too late and it was all EWEWEWNOTGOOD but ANYWAY……….one of my friends told him once that he should go for Halloween as an allergic reaction to a bee sting. And he didn’t. But Meg Ryan is working on her costume as we speak:

Awwwwwwww

Oh, Meg. We like your sparkly fatsuit head. We do. We really, really do. Do you need a hug? I need a hug.

Moving on, when did Morrissey turn into an old hot piece?

Morrissey Clooney?

Seriously, what happened? And why does this looking-better-with-age bullshit not happen to any woman on earth other than Helen Mirren? Fuck him and fuck her. My muffin top PROTESTS.

Um. Do I even need to say anything here? Ok, I will just say a little thing. I have lots of unwarranted opinions about lots of celebrities. But one that I will FUCKING STAND BY NO MATTER WHAT is that John Mayer is THE BIGGEST DOUCHEBAG IN CHRISTENDOM. I cannot believe that he has an audience and fans and money and a place to live and a heartbeat. I don’t give two craps about Aniston, but I liked her a whole lot better before she hooked up with this slimy piece of slime. And of course now I like her better again (or just feel sorry for her) after Douchy McDouche stood on a corner and made sure that the paparazzi and TMZ and by extension ALL OF US knew that HE broke up with HER and not the other way around and that THEY should leave her poor broken soul ALONE because he has SO MUCH RESPECT for her that he just had to make it perfectly clear that HE WAS THE DUMPER and SHE WAS THE DUMPEE. Yeah, nice hammer pants, asshole. Where’s your giant gold crucifix? It’s the only thing missing from this outfit. Maybe you should use some of that chest hair you wax off or the wispies from your skeezy pussy tickler mustache to transplant into your icky fronthead bald spot, YOU ABUSIVE WHORE.

*Sigh* We present the Moore/Willis brood at the premier of The House Bunny.

Mask and Douche Jr. are kind of keeping a straight face at Ashton Kutcher’s patently insincere joviality, but the house bunny behind them is all, “What the fuck is wrong with that guy?”

Oh Em Gee, is that Ashton Doucher?

Ummmmmmmmmmm…………..

Shauna Sand is a miracle

Uhhhhhh………… I………….. I don’t know. This picture is just so amazing and perfect that nothing I can say will do it justice. You can click the link for anything else you need to know about the Empress of Lucite.

She’s done with you anyway.

Buh-Bye!

Awww, look at her sad little butt pouch. Ok, so up until this point, all that stuff up above I wrote on Friday but then someone came up to me Friday afternoon and offered me free beer and this post was instantly abandoned. So now I’m trying to finish it up first thing on Monday morning before I’ve even had my pretentious cup of tea (local honey, unsweetened vanilla soy milk) or my breakfast (generally sushi around 10:30). So I apologize if this shit kind of peters out here at the end.

I’ve never even once in my life watched American Idol and only know who the past winners have been because of Kathy Griffin’s stand up routine, but from what I understand they have hired a new judge for the show and I just have one suggestion for the producers:

REEEEEEEEOOOOOWWWWWRRRR!!!!

You had better seat these two bitches as FAR AWAY AS POSSIBLE from each other because this shit is about to go nuclear. Look at her face – Paula Abdul is so about to cut a bitch. Two seconds after this shot was taken, Paula’s Wolverine claws popped out and jammed right into this no-name ho’s lung – that’s how she rolls. Sassy!

Well, surprisingly, I have several posts lined up for this week so check back in when you get a chance. I’ll finish up here with a little PSA. If you haven’t seen Pushing Daisies, the whopping genius of a genius of a show that was brutally cut short by the writer’s strike in its first trimester, I cannot recommend it enough. Only 9 episodes were completed, but it still received 12 Emmy nominations. The truncated Season 1 DVD will be released on 9/16 and the second season begins on 10/1 on ABC. Do yourself a huge favor: Netflix that shit and watch the show when it returns this fall. You’ll be glad you did!